Football Dynasty
Chapter 322: Absence from Training

Chapter 322: Absence from Training

Manchester City had already claimed the League Cup and continued their strong run of form by edging past Newcastle to secure second place in the Premier League standings.

Their momentum carried them to the FA Cup final, where they were set to face Chelsea—the Blues—at Wembley in what would be their third meeting of the season.

Following their latest victory, the national press, particularly the Manchester local, poured praise on City with such intensity that O’Neill and his coaching staff felt almost dizzy from the acclaim.

With just three days to recover before the Wembley showdown, O’Neill did what he could to manage his squad’s energy. Key players were given two days off, returning only for a light training session on the eve of the final.

But amid the preparation, an unexpected distraction surfaced—Leeds City had made a move for one of Manchester City’s key defenders: Rio Ferdinand..

The timing couldn’t have been worse. The media frenzy and public reaction left O’Neill—and even the usually composed Richard—visibly unsettled.

On the morning before the final, O’Neill oversaw a focused training session. During the lunch break, Ferdinand quietly approached and asked for a moment in his office.

They sat across from one another in a heavy silence before Ferdinand finally spoke. His first words, sincere and heartfelt, caught O’Neill off guard.

He expressed his deep gratitude.

In just two years at Manchester City, Ferdinand had come a long way. After adapting to the intensity of First Division football and then thriving in the Premier League, he had grown into one of the team’s most consistent and commanding defenders.

Perhaps, deep down, he knew that if he had stayed at West Ham, he would never have reached this level. The environment there simply couldn’t have shaped him into the player he had become. Manchester City had transformed him.

His words carried the weight of something more—they sounded almost like a farewell.

O’Neill, sensing the shift in tone, didn’t want to let go so easily.

"Rio," he asked gently, "how do you see our team’s competitiveness?"

Ferdinand answered without hesitation, "One of the best in England."

O’Neill gave a slight nod. "But so far, we’ve only won one League Cup."

Ferdinand paused, the silence stretching just long enough to signal reflection. Then he looked up and spoke with quiet sincerity.

"Boss, I know what you’re trying to say—and I appreciate it more than you know. Honestly, my time here has meant everything to me. This club has shaped me. You taught me what it means to defend as a unit. You believed in me, even when I didn’t perform. You never gave up—just kept pushing me, guiding me. And because of that, I’ve grown."

He paused, eyes steady now.

"I want to give back to this club. I want to repay that faith. But if I do leave, I want people to understand—it won’t be because I’ve lost faith in City. I’ll be leaving with pride. And listen, if we don’t win the league this season... we’ll do it next season. That’s a promise. If I go, I’ll go out as a champion. Fair?"

Upon hearing Ferdinand’s words, O’Neill felt a quiet sense of ease settle over him. He gave a gentle nod in agreement.

The message was clear: if City managed to reach the summit of the Premier League this season, Ferdinand would leave in the summer—his mission complete. But if they fell short, he’d stay one more year to try again. And if the team still failed to win the title next season, it would be clear that City hadn’t progressed, and they would lose him regardless.

While footballers from the 1970s may not have had the opportunity to become overnight millionaires like the stars of the ’80s and ’90s, they often carried qualities that are harder to find in later generations. Loyalty. Humility. Gratitude.

Ferdinand reflected those same values. He wasn’t interested in making a dramatic exit or burning bridges on his way out. He understood the importance of leaving with grace, not resentment.

Parting on good terms simply felt right.

Still, many wouldn’t understand why he might choose to leave even if City were crowned champions.

But the answer was simple: Manchester City, for all its recent success, still lacked the legacy of a true footballing giant. It wasn’t about trophies—it was about history, prestige, identity. And to players like Ferdinand, those things still mattered.

Just a few years ago, Leeds United was the league champion before the Premier League’s inception, Blackburn clinched the title last season, and Nottingham Forest and Aston Villa reached the pinnacle of Europe within the last decade. Yet, time has passed, and not many fans see these clubs as particularly noteworthy anymore.

For a club to become a true giant, winning a title or two is never enough. Success must be sustained. It requires consistent excellence, global recognition, and a roster filled with more than just one or two standout stars.

Manchester United is different.

The legacy of the club, and the spirit instilled by Sir Matt Busby, transcends silverware. It’s about resilience—the will to rise through adversity. That legacy can’t be measured solely in trophies. Ask any casual fan, and they can list off a dozen legendary names tied to United’s history. In contrast, City’s achievements, while admirable, aren’t enough to instantly elevate a grassroots club into greatness just because they’ve lifted a single trophy.

Especially this season—Manchester United are still in the title hunt despite being in a period of transition. If City has been steadily climbing, United has clawed its way back from the abyss.

That champion mentality, that Red Devils spirit—City still lacks it.

As the title race entered its final stretch, even the coaching staff felt unsure. O’Neill, for all his composure, was simply putting on a brave face. And the players? They were wired with nervous energy, teetering on the edge of aggression, ready to unleash their fury the moment the referee’s whistle blew.

Was this a good thing?

No.It was a sign of immaturity—of a squad not yet seasoned enough to remain balanced in high-stakes moments.

But this was uncharted territory for them. O’Neill was still trying to understand the emotional weight of the situation, looking for ways to help the team manage it. Eventually, he realized that it wasn’t something words could fix. It was experience—something only time and repetition could provide.

Last season, Blackburn had collapsed in the final weeks, while United narrowly missed a comeback. These were not tactical issues. They were psychological ones—the mental tax paid by young teams on the verge of greatness.

However, that fragile progress was almost undone by one bitter reality.

The latest developments nearly drove the Manchester City staff—especially O’Neill—to madness.

After reaching a verbal understanding with Ferdinand, O’Neill had returned to his dormitory after dinner that night. Just as he was settling in, Robertson knocked on his door.

"Leeds just submitted another bid for Rio. Marina informed me a moment ago," he said, catching O’Neill off guard with both his presence and the news.

At first, O’Neill wasn’t too concerned. He’d already spoken with all relevant parties. It had been settled—or so he thought.

But the next morning, during training, O’Neill scanned the field... and Ferdinand was nowhere to be seen.

That’s when he knew—something was wrong.

"What about Marco and Lilian? Can they play?"

Call after call was made—but none managed to get through to Ferdinand. With just six hours remaining before the FA Cup final, City had no choice but to scramble and make do with what they had.

In a last-minute decision, Steve Finnan—normally a full-back—was drafted in as an emergency center-back. It was far from ideal, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Richard, of course, was well aware of the situation with Ferdinand. He did his best to support O’Neill and the coaching staff during the chaotic buildup to the FA Cup final. But then, out of nowhere, something completely unrelated to football pulled his attention away.

His long-running legal case against the gold digger had finally been resolved.

It was over—and more importantly, he had won.

But that wasn’t all. In the aftermath of the case, news broke that lifted his mood even further: The Chorlton Hotel had been put up for sale.

The moment he heard the announcement, Richard acted fast. With no hesitation, he made the call and moved to secure the deal.

Within hours, the Chorlton Hotel was his—for £50 million.

Owning the Chorlton Hotel was just the beginning. Richard already had a vision brewing in his mind—something far beyond simply renovating an aging building.

He didn’t want to just run another hotel. He wanted to transform it.

Inspired by the sleek, modern energy of London’s South Bank, Richard decided to rebrand the property entirely.

The location was perfect: right across from the River Irwell, offering stunning views no luxury-minded guest could ignore.

What was once a tired, business-class hotel would be reborn as a symbol of Manchester’s next wave of urban sophistication. Rooftop lounges, waterside terraces, art installations, and a curated dining experience. This hotel wouldn’t just be a place to stay—it would be a statement, just as iconic in Manchester as its namesake in London.

When it came to the hospitality business, Richard already had experience with high-end properties. He saw this as an opportunity to add another five-star hotel to his portfolio, alongside his St. Pancras Renaissance London and the Britannia Inter-Continental.

The demand for luxury hotels in London remained strong, and Richard firmly believed Manchester would follow the same trajectory.

"Sea Containers," Richard said confidently to Stuart Olm, the current CEO of Maddox Construction and Property Management.

If he were going to create a hotel brand from scratch, the first challenge would be securing the right talent and manpower. After all, he had no intention of managing the hotel himself—he wasn’t a hotelier, and he didn’t need to be. The key was to find professionals who could bring the vision to life.

"I also want to expand the scale and grade of this hotel," Richard said, his tone firm with intent."Stuart, help me make Sea Containers the first true five-star luxury hotel on Manchester’s waterfront. I want it to become a pioneer—something that sets the standard for others to follow."